Memory: Volume 1, Lasting Impressions, A Tale of Pride and Prejudice (Memory: A Tale of Pride and Prejudice) (4 page)

“Mama, she is dressed as any girl of her age, and she is only thirteen!”  Elizabeth tried to explain.  “She is simply remembering what we have learned in church, after all.”

“Well, she is the only girl of thirteen I know who wishes to bury herself in sermons!  You always have your nose in a book as well, Miss Lizzy, but at least it is occasionally a sonnet or two.”  She shook her head.  “Although why you want to read at all is something I cannot fathom.  Reading books is for men, your father treating you as a boy with these debates over books is foolish.  You should be studying the fashion magazines and improving your needlework.”

“Oh Mama, that is so silly!  Every gentlewoman should read!  They should attend school as well to become well-rounded and accomplished in many areas.”  Elizabeth hinted.

“What nonsense!  I did not attend school, and I turned out just fine, my mother taught me all that I needed to know.”  She humphed and conveniently forgot that she was not born a gentlewoman.  “I have given you precisely the education you require to find yourselves husbands.  No man is going to care if you read some silly book.  You can write a letter and do your household accounts; that is enough.  Your mind is not what will interest him.”  She saw the looks of confusion on their faces and stopped herself from saying more on that subject.  Instead she changed her tone.  “Now you, dear Jane should have no trouble at all, every man should see immediately how beautiful you are.”  She patted her face.  “Why your aunt did not put you in the way of men in London . . . well, I shall write to her and see what she was thinking.  However, next time you go to town, I expect you to return with a man on your arm.”

“Is that all that matters?”  Elizabeth said angrily.  “Marriage?”

Mrs. Bennet spun to face her.  “Yes, it is!  And it will be a miracle if any man gives you a second look.  You are hardly pretty, but if they do look, one evening of listening to you will surely chase them away.”

Elizabeth threw the gown she was holding onto the bed and left the room in tears.  She grabbed her bonnet from a peg by the door and ran outside.  Seeing her sisters Kitty and Lydia making wreathes from flowers and giggling, she glared at them in fury.  “They are exactly the kind of girls who need an education!  What will become of them?  Mama does not care of anything but men, and Papa does not care of anything but his books!  If it was not for Jane and me teaching them, I wonder if they would have learned to read at all!  Why must we rely on ourselves to be educated?” 

She strode through the garden, barely realizing where she was going, until she found herself climbing Oakham Mount and sat upon the hill, staring out over the land.  Her hurt had dissipated through the long walk, and now she looked out at the scenery and allowed the beauty of nature that she had been deprived in the foggy smelly city to calm her further.  She was old enough now to see her parents’ marriage with open eyes and after spending the past six weeks in the Gardiner home, which displayed a marriage of respect and love, the return to Longbourn made the deficiencies of her parents’ union painfully clear.  She began to resolve that when she married, if she married, her goal would be to emulate her relatives. 

Her thoughts turned again to her mother’s cutting words and her determination to see the girls settled.  Elizabeth was no fool; she knew that her options for survival after her father died were very limited and bleak unless she made a good match.  Her aunt’s words of gentle admonition were not lost on her; she just did not understand why her mother never seemed to like her.  Some movement in the distance caught her eye and she watched the tenants tending the fields surrounding Netherfield Park, and pleasant thoughts of a man who
did
look at her came to mind.  She wondered if he would prefer a girl who had improved her mind with reading or wished only for an ornament for his arm.

“VERY WELL DONE, dear, very well done!”  Mr. Darcy clapped and Georgiana hopped up from the pianoforte to curtsey prettily.  He laughed and she ran over to join him on the sofa.  “Your brother will be very pleased with the progress you have made on his birthday song.”

Georgiana curled up next to him and hugged his chest.  “I hope so, Papa.  It would be nice to see him happy.”  She paused then peeked up to her father’s face.  “He is changed since he returned from his trip.  I wonder if it was not as enjoyable as he describes.  I do not think that I will ever wish to travel if it leaves one so unhappy.”

Mr. Darcy closed his eyes and gave her shoulders a squeeze.  “No, no dear, you brother is not unhappy with his tour, he is simply taking on a great many burdens a little sooner than he expected.  We must be patient and supportive to him as he adjusts.”

“What burdens?”

“Well, he is a man now.  He has completed his education and now he must think of his future.  For Fitzwilliam, that means being the master of Pemberley and caring for all of the people within its reach.  It is a very important occupation, and he is feeling the weight as it settles on his shoulders.”  He smiled at her confused expression.  “Do you have a question?”

“Yes, Papa, why would Fitzwilliam need to take on all of these duties now?  Is this not your duty?  What are you to do?”

“Have I not earned a rest?”  He laughed and she smiled.  Mr. Darcy kissed her brow and ruffled her hair.  “I would not be a good father if I did not prepare my heir properly to do his duty.  I have given it all over to him to learn well while I am here to guide him.”

“Are you going somewhere?”  She teased.  “I think that you already had your Grand Tour, Papa.”

“Ah, many, many years ago, dear.”  He looked at his little girl, so innocent and trusting.  A pain clenched his gut and he knew that it was time to tell her the truth.  He played with her curls then kissed her forehead and hugged her tightly to him.  “Georgiana, I have been keeping a secret from you.”

“A secret?”  She whispered.  “Is it about Fitzwilliam?”

“It is about all of us.”  He swallowed.  “Fitzwilliam is learning my duties so that he is prepared to take over Pemberley when I die.”

“Papa, do not speak of such things!”  She said worriedly.

“No dear, I have managed to hide the truth from you long enough and you know how much I despise disguise of any kind.  I was waiting for your brother’s return before I spoke of this to you.  I am ill and . . .I will die soon.”

“NO!”  Georgiana tried to wrench herself from his arms and he held her tightly as she began to sob. 

“Yes dear, I do not know when, but it will come sooner than later.  Fitzwilliam will be your guardian as will your cousin Richard.  I considered sending you to live with your Aunt Helen and Uncle Henry, but decided that you and your brother should not be separated.  He will need you as much as you will need him.”

“Papa, please do not die.” She whispered and hugged him tighter.

“I do not wish to my dear child, but I cannot question God’s will.  He wants me to return to your mother’s side.  She has been lonely for me,” he smiled as the tears rolled down his cheeks and dripped into Georgiana’s hair, “and I have been lonely for her, so you see, it will be well.  You will have your brother who loves you dearly and all of our family will look after you.”

“I do not care about me, Papa.”

“Well, that is a very selfless thing to say, and it makes me proud of you.  Now, will you do something for me?”

“Anything, Papa.” 

“Will you look after your brother?  He is going to need you to make him smile, so that will be your duty.  Do not give him any trouble, just take care of him.  Can you do that for me?”  He looked down and wiped her face.

“Yes, Papa.”  She whispered.

“Good girl.”  He hugged her again and closed his eyes. 

4 SEPTEMBER 1807

The harvest is in.  I have always enjoyed this time of year, the activity; watching the skies for any sign of rain and seeing the workers rush to get the wheat and barley in dry.  The threshing will wait for another time, but at least the crops are safely in their barns.  There is so much left to do, so much that I hardly noticed as a mere resident of this estate, but now that Father and Mr. Nichols are looking to me to give the orders, I am intimately aware of the details and the great planning that was involved months ago that made this whirlwind of activity a success.  I am indebted to them both for their patience.  I am not blind to all of the mistakes I am making and how I have been corrected.

Georgiana has changed.  I noticed that she had become withdrawn and clings more than ever to Father.  When I spoke to him about it, he informed me that she knew the truth now.  It is good that she does know.  I remember clearly losing Mother, but that was so sudden, only days after Georgiana’s birth.  Perhaps that is why I never have accepted it.  At least Georgiana will have the opportunity to prepare herself, and when the time at last comes, she will be grateful for his release from pain.  At least that is what I am telling myself.

Darcy set his pen down and closed the journal, too overcome with emotion to continue.  He stood and went to lean on the window frame and looked out at the trees and remembered.  The devastation he felt with the loss of his mother was never relieved.  He did his best to cheer his father, but he remembered seeing him walk along the corridors, stopping to lean on a wall and gasp back his sorrow before moving off to his study to hide and work.  Georgiana was left to the care of her wet nurse and nanny.  Darcy was soon sent off to Matlock and then Eton.  He understood now that his father did not want his son to witness his mourning.  That was when Darcy turned his emotions inward, not letting anyone see what he felt inside.  As time passed and his father resembled his old self again, at least to his children, Darcy was able to be open with his emotions, smiling and laughing along with his cousins and friends at school.  He was forever shy and serious, but had his moments of liveliness as well.  But now, he felt his old talent of masking his emotions reasserting itself.  It was as if some cold fingers were stealing over his heart.

“May I join you, Son?” 

Darcy startled and turned to see his father in the doorway.  “Of course, please come in, Father.”  He hurried to help him walk into the room, and lent him his strength as he lowered slowly onto a chair.  “May I get something for your comfort?  Some wine?”

He chuckled.  “No, no, I am well, please sit down.  Now, tell me what is to be done next.”

“The extra labourers have been let go, the corn is being put up in ricks, and soon the fields will be ploughed for the spring wheat.”  Darcy recited.  “Then the threshing will begin and the extra cattle and sheep will be driven to market.”

“You are forgetting something important.”  Mr. Darcy tilted his head.  “You must take care of your tenants and workers and thank them for their labours.  When will you hold the Harvest Home celebration?”

“Oh, I forgot . . .I suppose that I am not thinking of celebrating, sir.”  Darcy looked down.

“It is important to not only be a good landlord but also an appreciative one.  This celebration is more than a reason to drink and be merry; it will cement the good will of your people in your favour, especially this year, when you are taking charge.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”  Darcy bent his head and twisted his hands.  “I know that you are suffering, sir, but I would want you to be with me.”

“I will be by your side as long as I am able, Son.”

“WHAT IS THAT supposed to be?”  Lydia bit into an apple and leaned over the table where Kitty was sketching. 

“A cat!”  She looked up and glared at her.  “It is perfectly obvious.”

“It looks like an orange pillow.”  She took another bite and wiped the juice running down her chin with the back of her hand.  “Why do you want to waste your time playing with crayons?”

“I enjoy it.”  She said defensively. 

Mrs. Bennet entered the room and looked over the drawing.  “Do not mark up the table, Kitty.”

“I was not going to, Mama, I am careful.” 

“Well, see to it that you are.”  She tilted her head.  “Are you drawing a cushion?”

“That is what I thought it was!”  Lydia declared.

“What a clever girl you are, my dear Lydia!  And so pretty!”  Mrs. Bennet touched her hair and patted her face.

“It is a cat.”  Kitty said quietly.

“Mama, will you show me how to retrim my bonnet?  I think it should be in autumn colours now.”

“Oh yes, my dear, it is very important to know how to dress properly!”  The two left the room laughing and discussing ribbons. 

Kitty looked down at her drawing and back to the empty doorway, then putting her crayons in the box; she balled up her drawing and threw it in the grate.  “Wait for me!”  She called and ran after them.

Mary looked up from her chair in the corner where she had remained unnoticed, and turned the page of the book she had just found in her father’s library that morning, containing Doctor Fordyce’s sermons.  Quietly she stood and walked to the table, closing the art book that lay open there.  Elizabeth had given it to Kitty the day before, encouraging her to read it and study the techniques for drawing that it described.  She had laughingly admitted her utter incompetence in the exercise but assured Kitty that with practice she would do well, just as she hoped to do someday with her piano playing.  Kitty glowed with the attention of her elder sister and sat right down to work.  Mary had watched her from the corner, and every time Lydia ran through the room Kitty would look up with a wistful expression.  Now Mary could hear her mother and her sisters laughing in another part of the house, and uninvited, she returned to her sermons.

In the drawing room, Elizabeth bent over her journal.

4 September 1807

I have tried again to interest Kitty in some occupation beyond ribbons and given her an art book to study.  How such an instructional tome found its way into Papa’s bookroom is a mystery.  I suspect that it was part of the collection he bought when the Porter family was forced to sell their belongings to pay off their creditors.  She seemed genuinely pleased to receive some praise.  I worry over her; she is so influenced by Lydia.  I think that she is as I was at that age, hoping for some attention from Mama and imitating Lydia because she always gets it.  Jane always had Mama’s eye then, especially when she had just turned fifteen.  I wonder if Jane has ever heard a cross word from Mama, no wonder she is so serene!  Now that Mama’s only words to me seem to be criticism or invocations to marry, I believe that I will spend more time walking than seeking her out.